


After the End

by ExistentialFish



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Child Death, Childhood Memories, Flowers, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29798082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExistentialFish/pseuds/ExistentialFish
Summary: More often than not, souls get lost. They fade, they fragment, they shift and change into something entirely foreign. Sometimes, they need a little nudge to get to the afterlife in one piece.Or, the making of a ghost. And how to stop it.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	After the End

**Author's Note:**

> Hi yes hello, I am here to grab my "speedran a fic the same day as the stream it's based on" badge, thanks.
> 
> Beta'd by TeenySparrows

He’s in a flower field. But it’s not like any Tommy has ever seen before. No, this one is vast, endless. Flowers shift and sway as far as he can see, like jewel-colored waves crashing gently across weathered rocks, endless in number, unstoppable in force. The sky above is clear, a soft blue that reminds Tommy of perfect summer mornings by the ocean, but there is no sun in the sky, nor trees around him, nor houses, nor rocks. All there is is _flowers_.

Tommy’s sitting among the plants now, the flowers coming up to his shoulders and brushing across his bare arms. Tommy glances down at his hands, but they are bloodless and unbruised, and he lacks the piercing ache in his skull he knows should be there.

Alright, then. Tommy is dead. Tommy is dead, and he’s in a flower field, and he is utterly and completely alone.

He sighs and flops down so he’s laying on his back, gazing up at the sky, flowers curling at the edge of his vision. It smells sweet here, like a mixture of floral scents and the overly sugary cake Wilbur used to make when he took Tommy out to the meadow by their old house. Tommy sighs and shuts his eyes. He’s warm, despite there being no sun, and if he lets his mind go blank he can almost imagine he’s really back home, still six years old and new to having a big brother. He thinks he can hear Wilbur strumming his guitar in the background, thinks he can almost feel the gentle breeze carding through his hair.

Then his eyes open, and there are clouds and a sun in the sky above him. He sits up and the guitar is louder now, it’s melody twisting through the air. Gazing around, Tommy can see the edge of the meadow is now encircled by trees, and Wilbur is leaning back against one, younger and still dressed in that thick yellow sweater he’d been so fond of. 

“Wilbur?” Tommy asks, lurching to his feet. But the ground is closer than he would have expected, and his voice is squeaky and young. 

Wilbur opens his eyes and smiles. “What is it Toms? Ready to head home?”

“Home?”

“Home,” Wilbur repeats, pushing away from the tree and taking a step toward him. Tommy takes a step back. This is too overwhelming, suddenly, and the thought of leaving the flower field so soon is unbearable, especially as memories of the world that await him beyond its borders come to mind. He shakes his head vigorously and Wilbur’s smile dampens somewhat. 

“No, I’m- I’m good, big man, I’m good. I’m-“ Tommy isn’t sure why he does it, but as soon as Wilbur moves toward him again he turns around to sprint in the other direction. However, he only takes one step before he tumbles, head over heels, through the flowers. The meadow is at an incline now, and the flowers are mountainous and sparse. 

Tommy sits up, and he can see that now the flower field is broken up by boulders and scraggly trees that the flowers grow around without care. Birds soar overhead, and if Tommy squints he thinks one almost looks like Phil, soaring high above his head.

He looks down and sees bandages wrapped around his leg from where he tripped and cut his leg open while on a hiking trip with his family when he was ten. It was a good trip, despite the injury. When he felt alone, Tommy often liked to imagine he was back on the mountain. 

He hears a voice calling his name from further up the hill and he turns to respond. Wilbur grins at him from where he’s sitting on an old log, a bag of supplies propped up next to his feet. Odd, Tommy thinks. He thought Wilbur left before Tommy got injured, because he came down with a fever. But, now that he thinks about it, Tommy’s not sure whether that was four years ago or four minutes ago. He brushes the strange feeling in his chest aside.

“Hurry up child! I’ve been waiting for forever already, no reason to keep being slow now. We’re in the final stretch, after all.”

“Where are we going?” Tommy asks, but Wilbur just rolls his eyes and beckons Tommy to keep moving.

“You’ll see, now come on. Adventures awaits and all that kid stuff, right?” 

Tommy frowns but follows Wilbur as he leads him up a winding dirt path that cuts through the flowers. They walk for what feels simultaneously like hours and like no time at all, finally stopping on the edge of a cliff. Tommy recognizes this as the spot he’d stopped at- will stop at? Is stopping at?- on his trip with Phil and Techno. He recognizes the spot where he tried to carve his name into the nearby tree and Techno had laughed because he’d nearly sliced off his finger. But instead of the familiar view of rolling valleys, the cliff leads them to an endless expanse of stars, twinkling and shifting with every passing moment.

Tommy’s breath catches in his throat, lost in the expanse of space before them. A chill runs across his flesh, and something deep inside him longs to reach out and touch the void before him, unsettling as it may be.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Tommy glances over at Wilbur to find him watching him with a soft, unreadable look in his eyes. Tommy tears his gaze away and takes a step back from the edge. “It’s creepy is what it is. Come on, let’s head back.”

Wilbur sighs softly. “Oh, Tommy. We’re not turning back. We can’t.”

Tommy swallows heavily and takes another step back. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Stop being weird Wilbur. I’m tired, I-I I want to go back to Techno and Phil now.”

“Tommy,” Tommy hates how pitying Wilbur sounds. “I know, I understand, but- you know you can’t do that. Come on,” Wilbur takes a step back towards the ledge. “You don’t have to be afraid. We’ll do it together, okay?”

“No,” Tommy whispers. “I’m not going.”

“Tommy-“

Tommy turns and runs back down the hill, except now the ground is level again and the flowers are the same soft pastels as the ones in the field he and Tubbo found near L’Manberg. He’s laughing, he realizes, and he thinks it’s the most wonderful feeling in the world, to laugh so freely again. He feels so anchored in the moment, everything is bright and real, and all of his troubles seem to be far off in the distance. 

The field is large, and he can see L’Manberg’s walls in the distance peeking over the tree line. Tommy is still running as he soaks in the warmth and the joy and the fresh air. He’s chasing Tubbo, but his friend is just out of sight. He pushes himself to run a little faster, but he still cannot see him.

“Tommy,” a voice calls to him. Tommy stumbles to a stop and turns to see Wilbur leaning back against a tree across the field. Wilbur’s wearing his new revolutionary suit, and when Tommy glances down he realizes so is he. It’s nice to see Wilbur out of the walls, he’s often too busy to come with Tommy and Tubbo, no matter how much they beg. Tommy grins and waves to him, wild and careless. 

Wilbur waves back and cups his hands around his mouth to make his voice carry. “Are you having fun?”

Tommy laughs and flips him off. “I was before you intervened, bitch!” 

Wilbur looks as if he wants to say something, but stops himself. “Alright, go on then. Just don’t go too far. You’ll get lost.”

“My sense of direction is impeccable!” Tommy shouts over his shoulder at Wilbur, already running off towards where he’s sure Tubbo has gone.

He keeps running, but no matter how fast he runs he can’t seem to spot Tubbo. He doesn’t mind though. Tommy feels so free and young in that moment that he thinks he could stay here forever.

“Tommy,” Wilbur calls to him again later, a little more urgently this time. Tommy groans and slides to a halt near the tree Wilbur’s leaning against. He isn’t sure when he circled back around.

“It’s time to go now. Come on, we need to go home.”

Tommy frowns. “But we haven’t found Tubbo yet.”

Wilbur smiles sadly at him and extends his hand. “Tubbo will get here once he’s ready. In the meantime, you and I need to get going.”

“No. No, I won’t leave him.” Tommy turns slightly and starts yelling for his friend. 

Wilbur frowns and steps forward. “Tommy, you need to let him go. You need to let go. Come o-“

A bolt of panic hits Tommy like fists pummeling his chest and before he knows it he’s running into the tree line, only to find himself standing in a small flower patch near the woods.

He glances down and realizes he’s holding a basket of flowers, and it clicks. He groans. Why had he just been standing around doing nothing? Sam Nook is waiting for him to gather materials so they could start construction on the hotel. 

Tommy bends down and starts plucking flowers from the earth, humming as he works. He can’t remember the last time he hummed or sang to himself, or the last time he was able to be alone without feeling dread wrapping around his heart like a porcelain-masked snake. Now those feelings feel so far away, and Tommy pushes them aside. In the moment, it almost feels like they never existed at all. It feels so nice to be productive, to be contributing to something positive for a change, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t also like making Sam proud by finishing his tasks quickly.

He gathers a full basket’s worth of flowers before he starts thinking about heading back. It’s mostly poppies, like Sam Nook requested, but Tommy doesn’t think he’ll mind if Tommy brings back some others too. They’re pretty, after all, and he thinks Niki might like some, if he can find her.

Tommy fixes his hard hat and turns around, only to find the hotel already finished. It looks wonderful, and a beautiful assortment of flowers grows around its base. Still, Sam Nook probably has a use for all these poppies, so Tommy carries the basket back toward his new hotel.

Sam isn’t outside like he usually is, but Tommy has a strong suspicion that he’s inside waiting for him. He doesn’t want to drop petals all across the floor, so Tommy sets the basket of flowers down next to the door and casts one last big smile up at his hotel, then places his hand on the front door. Something is calling to him from inside, and Tommy doesn’t mind going on to check it out. His hotel is perfect, and he’s more than happy to stay there forever.

Before he can enter, however, a grim voice cuts through the peaceful air. 

“Don’t go, Tommy.”

Tommy freezes and turns around. “Wilbur? What… you shouldn’t be here. How are you..?”

Wilbur continues as if he hadn’t heard tommy. “Don’t go inside. You don’t need it anymore Tommy, I know that’s hard to hear but it’s true. You don’t need it, and it’s time you come home.” Wilbur looks up at the hotel, a guilty, wistful expression crossing his face. “It’s a beautiful hotel, Toms, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes beautiful things do more harm than good, if you get too attached.”

Tommy scowls. “No, you know what? Shut up. You died, you died and took away everything we had. You don’t get to take this away from me too. It’s my only- it’s my last good thing. Everything else, it-“ Tommy curls in on himself a little, hugging his arms and casting his eyes down to avoid seeing visions of explosions and bloodshed and clenched fists slamming down towards his head. “Everything else hurts, Wil. It’s all ruined and awful and- and I just want to hold on to this one good thing.”

“Oh, Tommy,” guilt laces his brother’s tone and he steps closer. This time, Tommy doesn’t back away. “I know. Believe me, _I know_. It’s so much easier to get lost in the good things. But if you bury yourself in them, you’ll become blind to everything else. You’ll cut out the parts of you that don’t fit, and though those parts may hurt they still make you _you_. And I know that it hurts, I wish it didn’t. But, loathe as I am to admit it, it’s far too quiet a universe without Tommy Innit there to cause trouble.”

Tommy finally drags his gaze up from the ground to meet his brother’s eyes. Wilbur is holding his hand out towards him, and there’s so much warmth in his expression that Tommy hesitantly extends his own arm and clasps hands with Wilbur.

As soon as they touch, Tommy feels as if he’s living again. Not the faint phantom mimics of life he’d felt running through the flower fields and plucking poppies from their stems, but real, vivid life in all its painful hues.

He’s crying before he knows it, because it hurts so much, the weight of everything crushing him down. He’s swiping at the tears rolling down his cheeks when his crying morphs into laughter, delirious and frantic, because as much as it hurts it feels, inexplicably, like he can breathe again. And it feels so good to laugh, to cry, to feel like he really exists again.

When his laughter dies down and the tears dry on his cheeks, Tommy is surprised to find Wilbur looking at him not in bewilderment but rather a quiet understanding, and Tommy wonders if Wilbur felt this too, when he first came here. Because Tommy knows where they are now, and he isn’t sure how he’d started forgetting in the first place. You’d think the afterlife would be an easy place to remember.

“All better now?” Wilbur asks.

“Not quite,” Tommy replies. “But it’s something, innit?” 

Wilbur nods and glances around. Tommy follows his gaze, and realizes they’re back in the endless expanse of flowers he’d first woken up in. The sun is gone from the sky once again, and somehow Tommy knows there’s nothing here aside from them and the abundant plant life. Wilbur doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he looks almost fond.

“I like the spot you chose,” Wilbur tells him. “It’s so colorful and bright. It suits you.”

“I chose this?”

“Of course. Our minds always select somewhere comfortable to wake up in. Somewhere we’ll feel safe, to ease us out of the trauma of death.” Tommy stares across the rippling sea of flowers, and silence falls between them for a few minutes. Before, Tommy could never stand silence. But here it feels comfortable, and Tommy lets it sit until Wilbur breaks it.

“Are you ready to go then?”

“Go? Go where?”

Wilbur turns to him and smiles, excitement twinkling in his eyes. Tommy knows Wilbur’s dead, logically, but he _looks_ more alive than Tommy has seen him for years.

“This is just where you’re meant to wake up, Toms. There’s so much more out there. You’ll like it, I promise. So, are you ready to go home with me?”

Tommy grimaces. He glances back, some part of him hoping he’ll see more glimpses of his memories. It had been nice to walk through them, and it was tempting to stay and relive them all again. “I’m not sure I am.”

Wilbur takes his hand once more and lightly squeezes it. 

“It won’t hurt, to let go. It’ll feel good. It’d hurt more to stay,” regret taints Wilbur’s expression. “Trust me on that.”

“You’ll stay with me all the way?”

“The whole way,” Wilbur confirms, “and beyond.”

Tommy takes a deep breath. “Alright,” he says. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Wilbur smiles, and Tommy closes his eyes, and then there is just an empty expanse of world, with no one within it but the flowers that stretch to the ends of time.

[Often, long-suffering souls get lost in what they wish their life had been. The good parts ensnare them, eating away at what hurts until nothing is left but the most perfect moments. But this is not a good thing, for a soul without all the experiences that shaped it is not a soul. It is a fragment, warped and faded beyond recognition, entirely foreign to the person it belonged to aside from their face and a handful of their happiest memories. It is a curse, truly, and such a “soul” is doomed to walk alongside the mortals without purpose or self forevermore.  
Guidance is needed, sometimes, to keep a soul whole. But ultimately it is the soul’s job, the soul’s responsibility, to save itself. To remember who it is, and to cherish itself, to continue to live on with all the experiences that create life in the first place. Grief, joy, fear, love. A soul that holds on to them all is a soul that will continue to live.  
Welcome to the Afterlife.]

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have any questions, comments, or critiques please drop 'em below, I always love to hear them!


End file.
